Early Hours
by PurpleCadet
Summary: "I guess we've kind of ruined each other for anyone else." - Donna/Harvey one-shot


So this is just a little one-shot that I started the other day to tide myself over until the season 3 premiere (which was awesome by the way!)

* * *

**_Early Hours_**

_"I guess we've kind of ruined each other for anyone else."_

* * *

It's the middle of January and it's absolutely freezing, but she wakes up tangled in sweaty sheets feeling utterly claustrophobic. Her breathing is loud and erratic but he sleeps soundly beside her, hair mussed playfully, his face buried in her pillow. She rests up against the cool wood of the headboard in attempt to soothe her overheated skin.

His hand reaches out unconsciously for her, fingers caressing her inner thigh even in sleep. She pries his hands from her naked body, before feeling immediately guilty for doing so. This is stupid, _so stupid. _But she's feeling feverish and there's absolutely no chance of falling back asleep now.

She tumbles out of bed, wincing at the loud creak of the frame. Still his slumber continues uninterrupted and entirely oblivious. She's been consumed with built because this transition has been so easy for him, as if he expected it all along. But to her, he still looks painfully out of place in her bed and the sight of his belongings taking up residence beside hers makes her more anxious than it should.

Her clothes for the office are strewn haphazardly around the room but she can't bear the thought of binding herself in a pencil skirt at this ungodly hour. The glow of the city seeps into her room and she can just make out the shape of her yoga pants twisted around one leg of the bed. She slips them on before locating a bra and a sweater and hastily dressing herself.

The cotton clings to her damp skin and she wonders if maybe she should shower. But she quickly dismisses the idea because she knows showering will grant her both time and hindsight. And right now she doesn't feel much like thinking clearly.

She leaves her home, _their home_, without more than her purse and phone and has only the belated sense to slip on a pair of running shoes. She steps out of the building and hails a cab. It's New York so the driver is neither surprised nor curious why she is catching a cab in the middle of the night looking like she's heading to pilates.

The address rattles off her tongue before she even realises the car is driving past her apartment building. She wonders if it means anything that she never even considered going anywhere else. She decides she can analyse that later.

* * *

The doorman's face lights up in recognition before he eyes her questioningly. Nonetheless, he lets her upstairs, curt and politely silent. She's about to take the elevator but the stairs suddenly seem a whole lot more appealing. She practically runs up two at a time in a ploy to calm her jittery nerves. A dozen flights later she is face to face with his door, huffing like she's just run a marathon and rapping her knuckles hard against the wood before she can think the better of it.

It's several minutes before she finally gets an answer. When she does, the door swings open swiftly, leaving her feeling completely exposed.

"Donna?"

"Hi," is all she can manage as she's met with Harvey's squinted eyes and bleary expression.

He clears his throat, but it does nothing to clear the gruff of his voice. "It's late," he grumbles, unable to do anything but state the obvious. She's glad for the extra seconds to compose herself.

"Can I come in?"

He nods once, wordlessly stepping aside and making room for her to brush past him. She follows him into his kitchen where he turns on the coffee machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filters through the room but the thought of drinking any makes her stomach turn. Donna perches herself on one of Harvey's barstools, feet dangling just an inch shy from the ground.

"I know this is weird, me coming here, given how we left things the other day…" she says, trailing off. The last thing she wants to do is rehash the argument they had a week ago. Okay, not an argument, more like _"the fight to end all fights" _as she's taken to calling it. Harvey's back is toward her, though she can tell he's making a pointed effort to stare at the slow drip of scalding coffee coming out of the machine.

"Did you come here at three a.m. to apologise?" he says, barely concealing the bite behind his words.

She refrains from telling him that _she is not the person who needs to apologise, _but he's rightly pissed off. She dropped by for the first time in over a year without so much as a warning and it's three in the morning for Christ's sake.

Harvey swerves around to face her. He must have noticed her flushed skin because he narrows his eyes, asking her, "Did you run here?"

"The elevator was busted," she lies. He says nothing but she can tell he doesn't believe her by the small smirk that creeps onto his face. Harvey turns back around, gathering two mugs and filling them with coffee. He sets one in front of her, it's black, which he knows she hates. It doesn't matter, she won't drink it anyway.

"Thanks, but I'm wired enough as it is."

He shrugs, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Donna why are you here?" he asks her not unkindly, and still a little groggy.

"I couldn't sleep," she sighs.

Harvey snorts and takes another sip of his coffee. "A problem _I _was not having – until now."

She smiles gently at him, and it strikes her that she hasn't done that in such a long time – genuinely smiled at him instead of scowling or smirking. It's been even longer since he's smiled at her, eyes crinkling and dimples softening as she makes him laugh. Her stomach knots painfully at the thought.

"Then I will apologise for _that_."

Harvey circles the bench and drops down in the seat beside her. The image of the two of them in his kitchen practically dressed in pyjamas is a ludicrous one, but the reality of it isn't quite so absurd.

"You were out of line the other day," she tells him.

Donna watches his shoulders go rigid. "When I said you were making a huge mistake?"

She shakes her head. "No, the other thing."

It doesn't even take him a second. "Ah, _that,_" he says unnecessarily.

She cringes at the memory of the two of them tearing each other apart in his office afterhours; him all but accusing her of not loving Stephen, her accusing him of wanting her to be miserable just like him. The harsh clatter of the can opener against the wall of his office and the brutal slam of his office door still reverberates in her ears.

Their words were uncharacteristically cruel and even more bruising, still too raw to reference verbatim. And they're both aware that tonight is the first time they've said more than two words to each other in a week. She's still surprised he let her in at all.

"You're right, I was out of line," he admits quietly.

For a moment she thinks she misheard him. "Can I get that in writing?"

"Donna, come on," he says tiredly. Donna tries not to focus on the fact that a couple of months ago he would have returned her teasing. He glances sideways at her. "The other day was…"

"Don't," she holds up a hand. "We both said things…"

_That can't be unsaid_. But she isn't even remotely ready to have this conversation yet.

Harvey swivels in his chair, angling his body toward hers. "Donna, why _did _you come here?"

"He asked me to marry him."

She exhales a breath, watching as Harvey does the same. He runs a hand through his bed hair, his eyes unfocused. But his weariness soon gives way to anger. "So you thought what exactly? You'd stop by in the middle of the night, wake me up and I'd congratulate you?"

"That's not –"

"What do you want me to say, Donna? You want me to tell you not to marry him?" he shouts, firing the question at her as if he actually thinks she'll dignify it with an answer.

"_My god, _you're an asshole!" she screams, stepping down from her barstool as Harvey does the same. Toe to toe, as always.

"But it's what you want isn't it? You're looking for me to tell you that you're crazy for marrying some random guy you've barely known for six months."

"That _random guy_ loves me."

"And I don't right?"

Donna releases a frustrated scream, her fingers curling and tugging at her red locks. "I'm not a witness Harvey, stop interrogating me! You don't know everything."

"I know you," he says simply. And it's enough to throw her. "And you know me enough to know that I've got the balls to voice _your _doubts."

"I didn't come here hoping you'd make my decision for me."

"But you're blaming me because you can't make one," he accuses.

Donna heaves another sigh, because he isn't totally wrong. She slumps back down on the barstool, her hands stretched out and folded in front of her. Harvey mimics her actions.

"I panicked, okay?"

She's been proposed to before, but it's the first time it actually meant something. It's not as if she hasn't considered it before – the possibility of a life with Stephen Huntley. A marriage and a big, horribly suburban house in Westchester and sensible cars and red haired children with quaint British accents. It makes sense and it would be perfect and right if it weren't for the fact that she can't see Harvey anywhere in the picture. After a history of thirteen years, a future that doesn't in some way include him isn't one that she wants for herself.

"You don't panic."

Donna gives a humourless laugh. "And yet…"

He's staring intently at her hands and she worries for a moment that he might try and reach for hers. He doesn't, but he does shift his chair closer to hers.

"For what it's worth, marrying him wouldn't be a mistake," he says, his eyes trained forward. "I just don't want you to." He tacks on the last part like an offhanded comment.

"I really wish you wouldn't say that."

"Are you happy with him?" he says instead, almost as an amendment.

"Were you happy with Scottie?" she challenges him, deflecting as always – a tactic he recognises as one of his own

"I…thought I was. But she told me she couldn't want our relationship for the both of us."

Donna hums sadly at having her suspicions all but confirmed. Harvey may need her and she may need him, but they sure as hell know how to make a spectacular fucking mess of things.

"I guess we've kind of ruined each other for anyone else, huh?"

His head whips around to face her, the lines in his forehead crinkling ever so. She's relieved to see a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "You may be right about that."

"Of course I am."

The air that surrounds them is filled with companionable silence. Harvey stands from his stool and it's enough of a hint to signal the end of her visit. "You should go home Donna," he tells her.

"I know," she agrees.

He walks her to the door, his palm hovering at the small of her back, never quite touching but close enough that she's all too aware of it. He opens the door for her in a rare act of chivalry that reminds her of a younger Harvey – a younger, different _them. _

She boldly cups a hand on his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin. His mouth is set a thin line, but his eyes are bright. He covers her hand with his, removing it from his cheek but allowing himself a moment to thread his fingers through hers. Her small hand almost disappears as it's wrapped inside his large one, but the idea of it doesn't seem as terrifying as it did before.

"Goodnight, Harvey."

"Good morning, Donna."


End file.
